Spit Shine
by Appetens Scriba
Summary: Chris and Derek have an unspoken, violent agreement that perhaps ends rather well.


Warning: This story contains graphic sexual content. No really.

* * *

Even though he always heals, it's still unbelievably satisfying for Chris Argent to hit Derek Hale with the butt of his gun. What's particularly satisfying about doing this to Hale, however, is that Hale loves it. He loves every hit, every kick, every scratch, every drop of blood - Argent would smack blood out of Hale's mouth, and Hale would just come back around with a satisfied grin.

So when he interrogates Hale at his house beside his obscene black Camaro about some wolfly mischief happening around town, Argent is barely restraining himself from smacking the smirk off of Hale's face.

"Like I said, Argent, I don't know anything." Hale smiles and Argent restrains himself.

"Hale, "he says, "I'm not in the mood for this. I need to know what you know about this, and I need to know it now."

Hale stares at Argent, smile disappearing, and steps closer with his hands in his pockets. "Like I said, _Chris_, I don't know anything."

"I think you're lying, _Derek_."

Chris smiles at Derek. Derek smiles at Chris.

Derek reels back when the butt of Chris's revolver makes contact with his nose. He lands against his Camaro and his black blood seeps onto his black car, and Chris thinks it might be poetic. Chris presses the gun to Derek's temple and says, "Turn over." Derek slowly turns from leaning over the car to facing Chris, and Chris says, "Open your mouth." Derek opens up, and Chris presses the barrel of the gun past Derek's lips.

Derek's mouth and chin are covered in his own blood, and his mouth is stretched around the gun. His eyes are looking at Chris like he's saying, "Is that it?" Chris laughs, grabs the back of Derek's head, and pushes the gun further into Derek's mouth; Derek gags, and Chris can see how hard he's blushing, and can see his teeth and tongue around the gun as he breathes harshly around the metal.

As he pulls the gun from Derek's mouth, he suddenly finds himself on his back on the hood of the car, Derek leaning over him between his legs and breathing on his face; the gun, knocked from his hand, bounces on the hood of the car and slides out of sight.

Chris laughs. "You could do whatever you wanted - you could torture me, kill me, fuck me - but that's not what you want, is it?"

Derek sneers and says, "Maybe, maybe not." He reaches up and wraps his hand tightly around Chris's throat. "Or maybe you don't really want any information out of me at all; maybe you just like to come up here with some bullshit excuse - and for what? To fuck?"

Chris chokes out a laugh around Derek's hand, and Derek realizes too late that there's a knife pressed to his side.

He violently jerks back with a scream when the blade sinks into his flesh; it slid in like soft butter, and now Derek's hunched over and breathing heavy, hand wrapped around the black handle. Just as he grits his teeth to pull it from his side, Chris points his gun to Derek's forehead, wraps his hand around Derek's on the blade, pushes him around and back against the Camaro, and quietly says, "Don't. Move."

Derek yelps through clenched teeth as Chris jerks the knife from his side; as he slips it back into his holster, Derek begins to heal. Chris lift's Derek's shirt up to look at the wound, watches at the skin stiches back together, and presses himself close against Derek's front until his mouth is ghosting Derek's cheek.

"There's some fucked up, deranged part of you that liked that, isn't there?"

"_Fuck_ you."

Chris presses his hips forward with a smirk; Derek's breathe hitches as their erections press together, aching for relief, the final reward the incentive. Chris lowers the gun until it's pressing upward under Derek's jaw. He presses his face closer to Derek's, trails feather-light kisses along Derek's cheek, and pauses at the corner of his mouth. Chris waits there, narrowly eyeing Derek; Derek licks his lips and Chris can feel it against his own mouth. Derek turns his head and presses his mouth to Chris's.

They kiss like they're trying to hurt, biting lips and tongues and pulling painfully hard on each other's hair, mouths bruising and bleeding and painful; their hips thrust together in contrast to what their mouths are doing, only insufficient pressure, teasing pressure, almost gentle in their movements. Chris loves to bite and pull on Derek's lips, loves to draw blood and make him groan in pain and harden from guilty pleasure.

He pulls away from Derek and returns the gun to his forehead. Derek looks even prettier when his cheeks are flushed pink and his mouth is bruised red and his chest is rising and falling as rapidly as his heart is beating. He's looking at Chris like he wants to eat him, so Chris decides to oblige.

He swallows and says, "On your knees."

Derek's eyes flicker to the ground as he lowers himself level with Chris's crotch. Chris unbuttons and unzips his pants and pulls out his cock and balls; they hang heavy over the v of his jeans as he steps closer to Derek, the head of his dick nudging Derek's mouth, gun grazing Derek's temple.

Derek sneers up at him. "How do you know I won't bite it off?"

"How do you know you won't die?" He returns Derek's sneer with a smile as he taps him once with the gun. "Even so, I know you won't because I know how much you like gagging on a dick."

Derek glowers up at him, Chris nudges his mouth again, and Derek opens. He presses in and groans under his breath.

Derek moves to raise his hands, but Chris says, "No hands." With his own free hand he grasps a handful of Derek's hair. "Take a deep breath." Derek complies. "Now swallow." He pushes in and Derek swallows, making a small choked noise. Chris pulls out, waits for Derek to breathe, and pushes back in, further. Derek gags and Chris groans. "Again. C'mon, breathe." Chris keeps his hand in Derek's hair as he takes Chris in his mouth as far as he can, breathing harshly through his nose and around Chris's dick. They repeat this for a while, Derek swallowing and gagging and looking up at Chris like a dog waiting for a treat, face wet with sweat on his brow, tears staining his cheeks, slobber coating his lips and chin, and blood still staining his face.

As Derek moves to pull back, Chris stops him. He holds Derek deep on his dick, his lips stretched tight and his face red, and says, "Bite." Derek looks up at him, beginning to choke and looking unsure. Chris says, "_Bite_. It won't hurt me." He moans open-mouthed and hissing as he feels teeth gently pressing against him. Chris looks back down at Derek; there's spit dripping from his mouth and his throat beginning to convulse. "Show me your teeth." Derek pulls his lips back and Chris can see his pearly whites around his dick, and it makes his own mouth pull back over his teeth in a pleased grin. "Get up," he growls.

Derek wipes his chin with the back of his hand as he rises. Chris nods his head toward the car and Derek raises his eyebrows. Chris sighs, roughly turns him by his arm, and shoves him forward onto the hood of the Camaro. He holsters his gun, rucks Derek's shirt up high on his shoulders, and slowly trails his hand down the smooth dip along the center of his back. He thumbs the twin dimples and runs his fingers along the waistband of Derek's jeans. He stares a moment longer, reaches around to unbutton and unzip, and jerks the material down mid-thigh.

He finds himself staring again at the full expanse of Derek's back, ass, and thighs; Derek starts to squirm, and Chris smirks. He leans forward, pressing front to back, and kisses and bites his way across Derek's shoulders, down his back, down one thigh, and up the other; his skin is salty and hot and perfect. Derek arches his back and pushes himself toward Chris, but Chris only smirks, stands up, and waits for Derek to still. Derek huffs in frustration and lowers himself to his forearms. Chris shifts a little to the side, Derek's ass naked and pale, and clenches and unclenches a hand. He wipes his hand on his jeans, rears it back, and brings it down hard with a sharp _thwack. _Derek yelps and jerks forward.

"What the fuck – " _Thwack. _His back is hunched like an angry cat as he breathes roughly into his forearms. Chris smirks and rubs his hand over the angry red handprints. _Thwack _and Derek cries out, breathless and blushing. Once one cheek is red, he moves to the other. The sharp crack of rough palm against smooth flesh acts as an accompaniment to every cry spilt over Derek's lips. He scratches his fingernails lightly over the burning hot flesh, eliciting a quiet, throaty whimper. He turns to Derek's thighs.

Derek stretches his clenched fists out above himself and rests his forehead on the car. He's panting and stretching his jeans tight as he tries to spread his legs further apart; the sight makes Chris's mouth water. He steps back to stare at what he's done. Derek's ass and thighs are burning and angry, and Chris wants to drink him slow like wine. He drops himself down to his knees behind Derek and spreads his ass cheeks wide. He holds him open and leans forward, breath hot, and flattens his wet tongue over Derek's hole. Derek's groans above him and pushes back onto Chris's tongue.

He licks over him, and reaches his hand to pull Derek's hard dick back between his legs; he licks up the shaft, mouths his balls, and returns to his hole. Derek's breathe turns high pitched and moaning as Chris works his tongue inside. Chris lets go of Derek's ass and slides his hands to his thighs.

Derek pushes back against his face. "Fuck yes, fucking _eat_ me." Chris feels spit run down his chin as he shoves his tongue as deep as it will go; he does this until his tongue aches. Then he scratches up and down Derek's stinging thighs, breathes deep, mouth open and wet, and licks a firm stripe up Derek's center as he stands. He shoves his own jeans further down his thighs, and aims spit at Derek's ass. He gathers it with his fingers and pushes two roughly inside.

Derek yelps and jerks forward, but Chris follows him with his hand. "Come on little puppy, you can take it." He keeps spitting and pressing his fingers in, angled downward, until Derek's biting and licking his lips; until he's pushing up onto Chris's fingers, unintentionally presenting Chris his ass. He pulls out his fingers and brushes his hand up Derek's back to grasp his shoulder. Derek is quiet as Chris grabs himself and presses the head of his dick against Derek's hole. He spits and rubs it on himself.

He gradually presses in to the hilt, soothes Derek with small strokes of his hand, and draws breath through clenched teeth. Derek groans long and low, pained but begging for more as he tilts his ass upward.

Chris pulls back, his head almost popping free, and jerks forward. His balls slap loudly against Derek's ass, and it seems to knock Derek breathless. Chris pulls back and jerks forward, gaining a steady, hard rhythm, guided by the desperate moans coming from below him. Chris's eyes are focused where their bodies meet; his dick is pushing rough and relentless into Derek. He reaches one hand up to grab Derek's shoulder and the other to clench a pretty red cheek, and begins to jerk him backward as he thrusts forward.

"Oh fuck! Yeah, like that - " Derek is panting and rolling his hips back. He pushes himself up on his hands and looks at Chris over his shoulder. "But can't you do better, _Chris_?" His voice is breathless and ragged, but it's still enough for Chris to grit his teeth, reach his hand up from Derek's shoulder to tightly grip his hair, and start fucking Derek hard enough to knock his thighs against the side if the car.

Derek's eyes widen and his mouth falls open as his head is tugged back by Chris's hand in his hair, making his back arch further. His neck is long and pretty, allowing his shameless moans to fall easier from his mouth; they slip together out of his throat, loud and jarring in the still air beside his house.

As Derek's moans grow louder and more desperate, Chris pulls Derek back further by his hair until he's flush against Chris, and then Chris releases his hair and quickly wraps it around his throat and _squeezes_. He pounds into Derek, bruising with his hips, and reaches around to grab his dick. Chris jerks him off, rough and almost painful, and Derek nearly begins to keen around the hand clasped around his throat. He wraps one arm around Chris's waist and the other up around his shoulder, and a choked noise spills from his mouth.

Thick ropes of semen spill out of Derek's dick onto his car; Derek freezes, quiets, and arches his back impossibly further. Chris loosens his grip on his throat, and suddenly Derek's moaning long and desperate a loud, the sound coming from his mouth is pieces. Chris pulls out and shoves Derek forward so he's bent double onto the car in his own cum. Chris reaches orgasm with a rough, low-pitched groan.

He falls halfway over Derek, staring at his cum on Derek's back, then he pushes himself up, tucks himself back into his pants, and steps back to stare at the man bent over the car.

Derek slowly straightens and pulls his jeans up from where they've fallen just below his knees. Not bothering to really put himself back together, jeans undone and just barely up over his ass, he turns to Chris; Chris can see his stomach shining with cum and dark curls behind the open fly.

He leers at Chris and says, "I forgot what you were asking me."

Chris shrugs and says, "So did I."

"Well, " Derek pulls his shirt down where it's been tucked under his armpits, "I'll make sure not to know anything next time." He buttons and zips his pants and turns to look at his Camaro. "Maybe next time I'll make sure you're not questioning me near my car."

"Didn't I tell you you should keep it clean?" Chris returns Derek's leer with a smirk and walks away from the wolf toward his own vehicle; there's a part of him that's glad an SUV isn't exactly convenient for hood fucking.


End file.
